A/N: My muse wouldn't leave me alone yesterday, and this was her demand. It takes place during S5 Ep2 - "The Price". I'm very pleased with how it turned out, and I hope you all are as well. Please read through the tags if you have any triggers.
Tags: Rough sex, hate sex, verbal humiliation, degradation, emotional manipulation, anal sex, come marking
Killian could hear the sound of glass clinking to his left as she spoke, but drowning out even her voice was the the call from dead ahead, a heavy, bolted door looming – whispering, drawing him closer. His breath quickened, his body thrumming with something he couldn't place as it neared, and then like the tide receding all at once, the pull was broken, Swan's hand appearing in front of him, the scent of rum burning sweetly as his eyes found hers.
"I still also know the fastest way to a pirate's heart is through his liver," she smiled, drinking in his gaze, tumbler of rum extended in her hand.
"There's an even faster way," he breathed, desperate to find his Emma once again in those eyes that were like looking through frost.
He swallowed her small gasp greedily, pouring every ounce of his love for her into the kiss, her taste a balm for his misery as he clung to the hope that this would be enough to bring her back to him, but the touch of her fingers in his hair was hesitant, and then it was gone altogether. Their lips parted, her words filling the space between.
"Now there's the pirate I remember," she teased, leaning back in to claim him once more, but the sound of her voice, distant and unable to bridge the gap between them made him pull back entirely, his eyes taking in everything that their kiss hadn't changed.
"It didn't bloody work," he breathed, panic threaded through each word as he stared at her unbelievably.
"You've been talking to Belle."
The distance between them seemed to grow even as she stared intimately into his eyes, something in them luring him with a dark whisper.
"Why didn't it work?"
"It didn't work because there's nothing to fix," she retorted, her voice climbing in a way that felt almost human – almost like his Emma. "This is who I am now. Why can't you accept that – why can't anyone accept that?"
"Because this isn't you," he insisted, knowing that somewhere beneath the guise of the Dark One, his Swan was still there, waiting for him. "What the hell happened in Camelot?"
"That seems to be the question of the day," she nearly spat, face hardening as she looked away from him and moved toward the door.
"Then bloody answer me!" he roared, anger rippling beneath his skin like something alive as she turned, her face as closed to him as his memories.
"I wish I could."
He strode across the distance to where she stood, needing to find something between them that felt familiar, something that felt how it used to be – that they were it for each other, meant to be.
"You can tell me anything."
There was a flicker of something at the edge of her mouth, words she was holding back, but then they were gone, replaced with a tired smile as she slung her arm over his shoulder in something that was far from an embrace.
"But that would be no fun," she purred, leaning in, their breath mingling and noses bumping as she inhaled him, "and I'm tired of talking – now, do you want to stay, or not?"
"Sorry, Swan," he said, pulling back just enough that he could gaze into the eyes he knew were hiding something. "This may be who you think you are, but this isn't who I am."
He felt the weight of her arm fall from his body, her head tilting curiously as she watched the battle he knew she would see inside of him – how the small step he took away from her clawed at his chest. Regret rose bitterly in his throat as he made the decision to leave her and moved toward the door, the exit that would be their last chance all too close – and then she spoke.
"But what if it is?"
He could hear the hint of truth in her words, something that fell oddly between the Emma he knew and the coy demeanor of the Dark One.
His footsteps stilled against the floors of the house she'd called her own, the soft white curtains of the door separating him from outside, a barrier between what he knew, and what she was tempting him with.
"No more games, Swan," he growled, turning about and bearing down on her, though it seemed she had expected as much. "What does that mean?"
It was cruel, she knew that, knew that she shouldn't do it – but she was slipping a little more every day in her steadfastness to keep some small part of herself from the darkness, and his kiss had made her remember, had called her back to herself if only for a moment. She needed to feel him, to remember what it was like to be loved by him, held by him. She needed it as she needed to breath, and she was just far gone enough that she would drag him through hell to get it.
"You've always been a pirate, Killian – a man playing hero. You don't remember Camelot. What makes you think you haven't forgotten one more black spot on your heart, and that I became exactly who I needed to be...for you?"
"More riddles," he hissed, the nauseating wave of fear in his stomach overwhelmed by anger, his fingers wrapping painfully around the bare skin of her arm as he drew her close and gently shook her – his hand barely feeling like his own as he did so.
Panic surged in his chest as he struggled to ease his grip, but her words had woken something inside of him – something dark and vengeful, something that wanted to make her understand how much he was hurting. How was it that there were no ends he would not go to for her, and yet she still wouldn't trust him, wouldn't give him the truth?
"You see," she shrugged, stepping into his anger and stroking the painfully tight line of his jaw as her eyes flickered toward where he was leaving bruises on her skin. "It's never far below the surface, Killian, who you are."
"You're wrong, Swan," he muttered, forcing his fingers from her around her arm and stepping back, his breath coming on a shudder.
"Stay with me," she coaxed, but beneath the impassive demand he could hear her for the first time, feel her – his Emma – and the temptation was too much for him to turn away from again. "This is where you belong, I promise you, Killian."
She brushed her lips against his once more, her body calm as his raged in front of her, a storm caged within a glass bottle, savage and waiting to burst free.
Time seemed to still as she waited for him to respond, her lids heavy with desire as she studied the chaos churning beneath the clear blue gaze focused only on her. Her warmth was so close to the surface, and yet unreachable. He wanted to shake her until that thin layer of ice shattered, until she cracked and the truth came pouring free. He wanted to feel her skin hot and pressed against his own, alive, her precious control swept away as he made her scream his name over and over.
He wanted, gods, he wanted.
And so he took.
Maybe he was exactly what she said he was.
He slanted his mouth roughly against hers, taking no care for her comfort as he bent her backwards, the steel of his hook snagging her dress and tearing down the side of it, the firm, pale swell of her breast and its rosy peak bared to him from beneath the remains of her torn undergarment. Satisfaction pounded through his veins like the sea itself as she returned his kiss with equal passion, the glass tumbling from her hand and shattering against the floor as she threaded her nails into his hair, biting his lip hard enough that he pulled away, and giving her the opening to take back some control, yanking him closer and slipping her tongue into his mouth, the both of them falling to the floor.
He returned her aggression, biting her lip roughly and reveling in the sharp hiss of pain he drew forth. She held a finger to the swollen wound and pulled it away to show him what he had done, a bead of red blood staining its tip.
"There you are," she teased, and before she could utter something else he didn't want to hear, – words that would stir the fury within him more than it already was – he was pinning her down, the back of her hands smacking the hardwood floor as he pressed her roughly into them, brace and hand equally demanding of her submission as he hovered over her, darkness swirling in his gaze.
"Shut up," he hissed, ignoring the creeping certainty that something was wrong, that this should have all gone differently – that somehow, he'd ruined everything, "and don't bloody move."
She obliged with a smirk, her eyes hungry as she followed the path his hook made against her skin, dragging along her collarbone just enough to leave a red welt before snagging on what remained of her dress and freeing her other breast for his perusal. They rose and fell with her excitement, nipples hardened and begging to be touched.
He pinched one roughly, delighting in the keen of pleasure his unkind touch pulled from her, her hips bucking beneath the spread of his legs, still wrapped in the useless fabric that had once been her clothing.
That wouldn't do.
He rose to his feet, ignoring her cry of frustration at the thought he was leaving – he had no such intentions. She'd woken something inside of him that he couldn't name, but it was angry and tired, wretched and needy, and he planned on letting it have its way with her.
He looped his fingers and hook into the balled up material around her hips and dragged it from her body, her feet kicking at it eagerly, pale legs falling back to the floor and opening for him – her arousal soaked through her panties and shining at the edges of her thighs.
"Look at you, Swan," he hissed, tossing the garment aside and kneeling over her body once more – claiming it, "all powerful, and yet here you lie on the filthy floor, cunt sopping wet and begging to be filled by a dirty pirate."
He dropped down, hook digging into wood as he fisted his hand among her tightly coiled hair, each silver strand drawn back into perfect obedience. He took pleasure in yanking until she gasped, feeling the strands that had once been a beautiful, soft gold pull free.
Emma let herself feel it all, the throbbing pinch at her lip, the stinging tug of his hand in her hair – let herself feel human again. Pain, pleasure – it didn't matter. Each of them was a sword that cut through the darkness suffocating her, surrounding her and whispering, making her forget who she was and why they were here to begin with. She needed all of it, needed him to remind her – or she'd lose everything.
"How does it feel, Dark One, to beg like a bitch in heat?" he growled.
His words were another jagged cut, another blade she'd need to take responsibility for, but they reminded her what tears felt like, even though she wouldn't let them fall.
"I haven't had to do much begging, now have I?" she quipped, lips twisted in a smirk as she rolled her head purposefully against his grasp, her scalp burning, "and you seem plenty eager."
"Oh, you'll beg for it," he promised darkly, "because if you don't, I'll walk out that door and leave you lying here in your own desperate need."
It was a lie, she knew. He could no more leave her now than she could ask him to – yet another choice she'd stolen away from him.
His cock was raging against the confines of his jeans, and in his heart he knew that whether she begged or not, he'd be taking her right here, sating the gnawing hunger that was burning through his gut and trembling at the tips of his fingers – but he wanted to hear it, wanted to hear the Dark One pitiful and helpless for something she couldn't otherwise get – his willing participation in her little game.
He released her roughly, the back of her head knocking against the floor as he stood and loomed over her, fingers nimbly unfastening the button at his crotch and freeing his throbbing length, its weight heavy in his palm, swollen head thick and glistening with his own smeared arousal as he jerked it over her naked, writhing form.
"Is this what you wanted, Swan? Is this why you brought me here?" he sneered, eyes flickering closed for a moment as his fist rolled over the head of his member, his entire body shuddering with anticipation at having her. It felt too long to have been without her, without the tight clasp of her walls, the way she arched into him, the soft caress of her fingers against his face, the way she'd sigh into the air when his stubble razed her neck.
His hand slowed as his mind conjured memories of Emma golden and warm, welcoming beneath him, offering herself up and shyly taking the praise he showered on her – her curls long and splayed on his bed, hips bucking into his mouth, his name falling like a dream from her lips...
"Having second thoughts, pirate," Emma goaded, noticing how his movements had stilled, his face taking on a look that was far away in another time, another place. "Still think you're the hero?"
Her words dragged him from his reverie, reminding him that this was not the same Emma lying beneath him anymore.
"Tell me, Killian, how much of a hero will you be when I find someone else to give me what I need?"
Blind, red rage overcame him at her words, at the thought of her seeking release with someone else, another man's hands mapping the curves of her body that he knew so well, the pieces of her that were the same no matter which version of her was lying before him.
"Make no mistake, Swan – Dark One or not – you'll always be mine. This body," he snarled, dragging her roughly to her feet and tossing her bodily onto the nearby sofa, his temper flaring anew at her smug look, "is mine – and while you may entertain ideas of soothing that ache somewhere else, we both know you've been ruined for other men. It will always be my cock you imagine filling you completely, my seed painting that beautiful skin of yours, my hand at your throat, pushing you over the edge, isn't it, Swan?"
"Maybe," she shrugged, spreading her legs lewdly in front of her and dragging a finger – the one still smeared with blood from her bitten lip – through her wet folds, pink flesh parting to reveal her tight center throbbing for him, "but a girl can only be so patient – Dark One or not."
He was on her before he could rightly understand how he'd gotten there – no memory of crossing the distance between them – but his nails were digging into her thigh, yanking her forward so that her pert bottom hung over the edge of the couch, the sound of a table clattering to the floor behind him as he kicked it out of the way and knelt between her splayed legs, his hand moving to angle the raging hardness of his cock against her core.
Feeling her warmth for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he surged forward.
She cried out beneath him, her body flexing as his entire length was buried inside of her, impossibly large and tight and feeling as if he were splitting her in half in the most sinfully perfect way. There was no breath of a reprieve before he was dragging himself free and repeating the action, his hand gripping her side as if it were the only anchor he had, his hook rending the cushion beside them as he pounded relentlessly into her.
"Tell me then, Swan," he panted, his words broken by the wet sounds of her arousal spreading between them both, skin slapping against skin, "is this what you needed? A good fucking by a ruthless pirate?"
She bit back the words pushing against her closed lips, words he was dragging up from somewhere deep and forgotten with each thrust of his body into hers, words she couldn't say – I just needed you, Killian, to pull me back, no matter how much it hurt. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Her sharp breaths built into a whimper as her body opened around him, his thickness stroking every hidden place within her, waves of pleasure rippling through her core and shooting down her legs, building in her body like something that would snap and tear her apart. She was near her climax, but one look into his eyes, hollow and hungry above her, made her realize he was far from done with her.
With a pained grunt he pulled out of her grasping depths, ignoring her keening pleas as he lifted her up and flipped her over, her chest tossed against the back of the couch as he spread her legs, revealing her abused sex to his gaze. She shuddered wantonly as his fingers explored her, spreading her wide and dragging the slick wetness from her walls before smoothing it over her clit and pulling a broken cry from her lips.
"You should see yourself, Emma," he rasped, shoving several fingers back into her at once as she jumped away from him toward the couch, whining at the nearly painful sensation, "so open and ready for me. No other man would have you, would they, Swan? Not like this, stretched open by a filthy pirate – rather used, aren't you?"
He threw the words at her purposefully, meaning to hurt, to wound her the same way she'd wounded him – the way she'd made him doubt who he was and what he could be. His cutting words reminded him that whatever had happened in Camelot, she'd done what she had to match him, to equal the the black-hearted pirate he would always be. He needed her to feel just as broken.
"Another man would simply leave you wanting, Swan, but not me. I'm yours as much as you're mine, so tell me, love – do you want it?" he purred, swiping the belled head of his cock along her folds once more. "Do you want me everywhere?"
"Yes," she hissed, knowing what he was going to demand next.
"Then beg for it," he commanded, slapping the side of her ass with his throbbing length, staining her cheek with the mix of his precum and her own juices . "Beg for it, and I'll give it to you."
She wriggled against the couch, the words leaving her pitifully as she searched for the feel of his length anywhere against her.
"Please, Killian," she moaned – she could give him this, could let her control slip for just a second. It wouldn't break her, not entirely.
"That's not good enough, Swan."
"I need you," she whispered, every word she pushed past her lips far too close to the truth of what she wanted to say, too dangerous. "No one has made me feel what you do. There's no one else, there never will be. Please, I want you – need you, all of you..."
"Where do you want me?" he purred darkly, his fingers swiping the viscous arousal seeping from her folds and dragging it higher to where her tight ring of muscle was bared for him. "Do you want me here as well? Is every part of you mine, Swan?"
"Yes," she hissed, thrusting back against the pressure of his finger as he pushed against her unyielding muscle. "Need you...everywhere, Killian, please..."
"That's a good girl," he praised, and rising up on his haunches, he pressed the tip of his cock against her opening. It had been some time, but he knew she could take him like this, remembered how tight she would be around him – and if it was too much, well, he wanted to make sure he left his mark with his body as well as his words, something inside of him demanding it.
His grip was uncompromising around her shoulder as she moved instinctively away from the burn of him entering her, pulling her firmly back and only making him stretch her more quickly as she breathed out soft, desperate noises beneath him.
"Just like that, Swan...take it, darling...gods, you're so bloody tight."
"Yes," she ground out, her body finally relaxing as the thick head of his cock slipped fully inside of her, every inch that followed a welcome burn pushing back the fog of darkness she could never truly escape from.
He paused in his thrusting, and Emma both heard and felt a cold wetness spreading between her cheeks, his saliva dripping down to meet where his cock was settled tightly inside of her ass, his fingers spreading it thickly along his shaft as he worked himself further into her.
"I'm going to fuck you so deeply that you'll be able to taste my seed as I spill it into you, would you like that, love?" he panted, his body rutting into hers as his saliva spread between them, easing his intrusion just enough. "You're not going to be able to sit without remembering how it felt to have me fill it up – is that clear?"
"Y-yes," she stuttered, gasping and biting her already bruised lip as he drew far enough out that she thought he would pop free, her body already craving the fullness of him as he left her empty. Shameful pleasure ignited along every inch of her skin as she bowed beneath what she had turned him into for her own selfish needs, at what she had forced him into becoming because she was weak.
She couldn't help but remember the times they'd done this before, how deep he'd been, how connected they felt, and she let that memory wash over her, taking away the guilt and leaving only bone-deep satisfaction as his cock reamed her, his balls slapping against her sensitive flesh as he took what he needed from her, what she'd forced him into wanting.
"Oh god..." she moaned, her thighs trembling alongside his own as he sped up, her back sinking lower as he gripped her sides painfully between his hand and brace, his own groans joining her own. He thrust erratically into her pliant heat, the tight grip of her channel dragging his orgasm from him at the same time hers tore past every last barrier she had, her core clenching achingly around nothing as he swelled impossibly large and burst deep inside of her ass.
His nails bit into her as he growled and pushed harder against her, the zipper from his pants branding her skin as he pumped rope after rope of his hot release into her. Then with a harsh breath, he yanked himself free and grabbed her, twisting her down so that she fell onto her back against the cushions, staring up at him as he jutted his hips forward and jerked the last of his cum from his balls, splatters of his seed landing across her cheeks and chest as he groaned out his satisfaction.
Emma closed her eyes, regret and guilt surging back in to fill the emptiness that he'd left behind, her body sore and longing still as he rose shakily to his feet, stepping back from both her and the couch. How much farther had she pushed him toward that looming darkness in an attempt to pull herself back from its edge?
The air stilled between them, both of their breaths settling as they watched one another, knowing that between them, something had shifted – some path washed into nothingness behind them.
He tucked himself back into his jeans, feeling like some of the tension he'd been shouldering was gone, perhaps the burden of what he had needed to live up to vanished. His eyes drifted along her body, limp and splayed across the couch, his release leaking from her abused body and dappled like stars across her chest. Her lips turned upward into a slow smirk, one that they'd often shared before after making love – though this one was changed, haunted by shades of things he didn't yet understand.
The need to suddenly be somewhere else – far from this place she'd called her own when he didn't really know her anymore, when he felt as if he didn't know himself – rose up like the bottom of the sea greeting a long awaited friend.
This is where you belong. I promise you, Killian, her voice whispered in the back of his mind.
Whispering, whispering.
But it wasn't his Swan that whispered at the edges of his mind, and instead of turning toward the front door, he found his steps leading him toward the back of the house, back toward the basement door that had caught his attention earlier – when she'd distracted him with a drink and some nameless hope that had fled his body along with his release into her.
This time, she didn't stop him.
A wave of her hand made the bolt slide free of its own accord.
His hand wrapped around the knob, and when he turned back to look for her, she was standing in the hall, silver hair perfectly coiffed once more, her body hidden beneath the sinuous black of her dress, the only reminder of their activities the ring of bruises blooming around her arm like dark flowers.
She nodded, encouraging him forward – and the handle turned smoothly beneath his palm, ushering him into the darkness below.